


Reaping the Whirlwind

by Annwyn



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Pre-Quest, Waymeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annwyn/pseuds/Annwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <i>Waymeet</i> Vice and Virtue Challenge - excerpts from the Commonplace book (diary) of Frodo Baggins. Any tense irregularities are therefore intentional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaping the Whirlwind

_ From the commonplace book of Frodo Baggins, 26 Blotmath 1405 _

Nightfall was my favourite time of day, regardless of the seasons. When our work was done and we had earned our ease; when the flames sang their sibilant song and danced with the firedogs on the hearth and firelight wrapped us close in its warm embrace and shut out the world beyond the Hill. It was then that we explored each other’s thoughts, building a strong foundation for the pleasures of the body with the solid delights of the mind. His silences were a balm to my spirit, and the sound of his voice a quiet joy.

Though I had loved him long, being _in love_ was still so new to me, you see, and our time together had yet to become a mere measure of the days.

From sunup to sundown, I had to share him with others - even the garden vied with me for his attention – but at night he was mine. Mine to gaze at as he sat beside me, a bit of leatherwork in his busy hands; his sturdy body mine to nestle close against as we shared the reading of a beloved book. Mine to take to bed when our need overwhelmed us. He was mine to love, mine to touch.

I had it all, but still… I wanted more.

 

~~~~~

 

_ From the commonplace book of Frodo Baggins, 12 Foreyule 1405 _

Sam stroked the worn leather binding of the book on his lap and sighed, his warm breath ruffling the hair on my forehead. I looked up, and he met my questioning eyes with a sheepish grin and shrugged.

"Beren and Luthien always make me go all soft inside," he said. "Him but big folk, though lordly enough, I suppose, and her an Elf Princess, and so high above him. And yet their love lasted past the grave." He fell silent for a moment and his arm tightened around me. "It isn't just a story, is it? It really happened. Frodo?"

I smiled and touched his cheek consolingly. He was such a dreamer, he was, my Sam with his soft autumn eyes; so enamoured of elves and tales of derring-do and impossible quests. You would think that side of him would be forever at odds with the otherwise earthy practicality of his nature, but it wasn’t. He could be as prosaic as the hills of the Shire and yet as fanciful as the banks of the Brandywine in spate. Perhaps it was because he was so at one with the earth and so sure of his place on it. Unlike I, who had nothing to anchor my dreams to but the capricious inconstancy of air. Earth and air, that's what we were; I was in him, but he wasn't in me, so to speak, and the thought saddened me somewhat although I really couldn't ask for a greater blessing in my life.

For a moment, I wondered if too much high romance was necessarily a good thing for him, and then banished the thought with a sigh.

"Elven memories are long, and there are still those who were alive when they walked Middle-Earth. Theirs is a true story, my dear."

"Even the awful parts? They suffered so much, Frodo."

I glanced at him sidelong – and took the opportunity with both hands. "It was the awful parts that made their bond strong enough to defy the realm of Mandos, Sam. The old tales weren't all singing and gentle love, you know."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and I wondered if he understood. Then he turned to me, and I held my breath.

But "Hmmmm?" was all he said, and I laughed ruefully, for he had obviously lost interest in Elven lovers, and was concentrating on the lover he had. Gentle fingers carded through my hair and cupped my face, and I met his kiss with generous mouth and ready tongue, desire twining like a vine through my body. Beren and Luthien lay forgotten on the floor, and when at last my Sam filled me, careful as he always was, I knew that what I already had was more than I had ever imagined. Perhaps my fantasy was destined to stay as it was. Just a dream.

That night, I lay spent in his arms, watching the snow fly past the pebbled glass of our bedroom window and wondering if I could have gone about my purpose in some other way.

_"Is there something special you'd like for twelfth day, me dear?"_

Well, now that you mention it, how about nailing me to the wall and using me 'til I scream?

The idea of it made me smile. Sam would be horrified, and I knew what he would say. That he was larger than I could take willy-nilly, and that he couldn't trust himself not to hurt me; that the sordid idea of it wasn't in keeping with the tales of gentle romance that he loved so much. Blast romance anyway. Sam had it in him to make my fantasy come true – I could see it in the blaze of heat that lit his eyes when he looked at me. I could feel it in the fine tremor of his hands when he touched me.

I didn't delve too deeply into the reasons for my perhaps inappropriate desire. All I knew was that I wanted him to lose control. I didn't want to be adored; treated like something precious.

I, who had more possessions than I could count, wished only to be possessed.

  
~~~~~

 

_ From the commonplace book of Frodo Baggins, 20 Foreyule 1405 _

Preparations for Yule occupied us for the last few weeks, and I saw less of Sam than I liked. The weather remained cold and blustery – a fine excuse for cuddling in bed, if we but had the leisure to do so. But the Gaffer, beset by his aching joints, was as grumbly as an old badger and between seeing to Number 3 and making certain that the inhabitants of the Row wanted for nothing, Sam had more on his hands than the management of Bag End and its master. It would never do to give his family more cause to rue his attachment to me, so I held my peace. A selfish consideration, perhaps, but – it was our first Yule together, and I was deeply in love.

I put my usual business aside and spent my days in a perfect frenzy of baking - although Sam had a lighter touch with pastry than I did - and my evenings reading aloud to him as he worked by the fireside. His carvings were in great demand as Yuletide gifts, and I loved watching beauty take shape under his capable hands. His best pieces will find their way to me, like as not – lovely little boxes carved with leaves, pounce pots in fanciful shapes, pen holders of black walnut polished to a fine sheen – I shall treasure them all because he made them. My own gifts to him were paltry by comparison – a pair of sturdy leather gloves for first day, a new shirt for the second; things that he wouldn't accept from me in the ordinary way, he couldn't refuse at Yule. I would have liked to give him a new carving knife too, for the one he used had been honed so much there was hardly any blade left, but I desisted. Gifts with sharp edges were frowned upon lest they turn against the giver, and though I was far from being a superstitious hobbit, I wasn't daft enough to take any chances either.

But there is one gift I labour over in secret, when Sam is out for the day or when he is asleep and the night keeps me company. I will find out soon enough if he likes it, I suppose.

Note: Ask Sam to buy more green ink when he goes to Bywater next. I wonder if I should learn to make my own?

  
~~~~~

_ From the commonplace book of Frodo Baggins, 2 Yule 1406 _

"Oh Frodo…" The look on his face told me all I needed to know. My twelfth night gift to him was a little book, bound in russet leather and written on the finest velum I owned – a book of flowers and their meanings as I gleaned the lore from Bilbo's books. I had illustrated the pages to the best of my ability, and added a personal touch to the text I copied from the original. _For Sam,_ I had written on the flyleaf; _With all my love._

_Lavender is for devotion. It is not a showy flower, having more foliage than bloom, but its delicate colour and wholesome fragrance is wondrously calming to the spirit. This is your flower, my Sam. Do you remember the bruises you bought in my defense when you were but a lad? They were only the first of the hurts you bore for me. You are my sun, Sam, rising to brighten my day. I revel in your warmth and I bloom under your devoted care._

He wept a little, and said that I had given him a garden of words for his very own. It isn't often that Sam waxes poetic, but when he does, he is altogether delightful. Full of delight too were his expressions of gratitude, and when we finally surfaced, flushed and disordered, he produced his gift to me.

"Why - Sam, it's beautiful!" The fine, wine-red wool slid smoothly over my skin as I took the robe from its wrappings and held it up into the light. "But it must have cost so much! I…"

"Never you mind what it cost, Frodo Baggins. Why would I wear my fingers out if not for you?" And he stopped my further protests with a kiss. "Now – will you wear it for me, my dear?"

Back in our bedroom, I stoked the fire for some light to see by, undressed quickly and slipped the robe on, marvelling at the feel of it. The warm woolen stuff brushed my toes, soft as silk and as light to bear. It always amazed me – how thoughtful Sam was. My old blue robe was well past its prime, out at the elbows and darned to within an inch of its life. I had resisted discarding it because it was comfortable and had belonged to Bilbo, but even I, who could never bear to let memories go, had to admit that it was past time that one did. I sighed as I tied my sash. Bilbo was always on my mind during the Yuledays, and I missed him keenly. As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stopped, staring in bemusement at the stranger who looked back at me.

Firelight limned the folds of the garment, touching it with a ruby gleam and gathering darkness where the light couldn't reach. Shadows etched the planes of my face, hooding my eyes, deepening the colour of my lips, and lending me an air of mystery. My pale skin gleamed through the fine, wine-red cloth, and I touched my chest curiously, and gasped as a tingle woke under the light caress. It was a strange feeling. I raised languorous arms and pushed my fingers through my hair, then ran them slowly down my face and neck, and my skin came to life in their wake, sensitive and simmering. My nipples budded and my cock unfurled, and I laughed softly and pulled the robe open to gaze at my nakedness. I am not the vainest of hobbits, but I had never been so _aware_ of my body before.

"Frodo? What's keepin' you?" Sam's call cut through my reverie, and I tore my eyes from the mirror, sashed the robe loosely and hurried out of the room. But an imp of mischief possessed me, and I stopped at the parlour doorway, watching as he raised his head expectantly. I leaned back against the curve of the doorpost and ran the tip of my tongue across my lips, and oh, I could see the fire kindle hot in his beautiful eyes.

"Well, my love? Does your gift become me?" I asked, my voice low and husky, and I allowed the robe to fall open a little, my arousal evident under the loose folds. I had never played the wanton before, and it was a heady role. Sam rose from his chair and made no answer save a heightened colour and a certain quickening of breath. I smiled and turned back into the dimness of the lamp-lit hallway, and I could hear the soft whisper of his footsteps as he followed me.

Events moved rather quickly after that, and my head whirls as I try to recall them now.

I felt warm hands grab me, and allowed myself an exultant smile. The lamplight flickered as I was borne back hard against the wall, Sam's mouth covering mine and his tongue already seeking entry. I closed my eyes and sank deep into his kiss, hardly aware of rough hands that bared my shoulders and pulled the robe down around my arms, effectively pinioning me. Then the world spun and my face was pressed against wood and his breath was hot on the slope of my neck and – I couldn't move.

"Sam?" I whispered.

He moaned into my hair and I heard the unmistakable sound of buttons pinging off the panelling and rolling away into the darkness. "Oh my love my love… I'm sorry, your Sam's sorry, but I can't I can't…" he wailed. Oh Eru, he was going to take me now! His whole body trembled against mine, and a broad knee thrust between my thighs, forcing my legs apart. Then cool air washed my bare back, and my arms were still bound in the robe behind me, and I felt the heat of his mouth on the curve of my rump and - _What…_ He nudged rudely into my cleft, painting broad streaks of moisture on my skin and – oh Valar, he was kissing me _there_! Kissing and biting and sucking and pushing his tongue into me and it was so good I cried out and almost spilled, right then and there. I was sure my knees were going to give way. Then Sam was warm at my back again, and my arms were free.

"Frodo," he groaned. "Please… please…" and I felt him - hard and wet where his tongue had been before, his frame shuddering with the effort of holding back.

I scrabbled weakly at the wall and tried to think. I had to relax, open myself to him unafraid… "Yes! Oh yes, Sam – please!" I cried and he clutched at my hips with force enough to bruise, bucked forward and plunged into me. Oh. Oh my… It wasn't as bad as I had feared, but my arousal wilted beneath the sudden spear of pain, and I gritted my teeth and hung on grimly. _Frodofrodofrodosogoodsorrysorryohoh…_ He reamed me with pounding strokes, my name a litany on his lips and suddenly, between one thrust and the next, my body eased, the pain faded and I began to move with him, pushing back against the panelling and seating him even more deeply. I felt his urgent fingers on my cheek and turned my head, meeting his frantic kiss with one of my own, open and wanting. My fantasy was a dream no more, and the thought enflamed me further and I was burning, burning… Then his hand was moving tight around me and he was coming hard inside me and I think I screamed his name at the last, and painted the wall with my seed.

I will write more tomorrow. Right now, I need Sam. Where is he?

  
~~~~~

_ From the commonplace book of Frodo Baggins, 3 Afteryule 1406 _

_It had been overwhelming, clumsy and searing. Not dirty, and not gentle, no – not at all. It had been beautiful._

"I'm sorry, Mr Frodo. You can’t know how sorry I am. I don't know what came over me. If you're all right now, I'll just take meself off and…" Sam's voice trailed away, and he shuffled toward the door, looking the very picture of dejection.

"Sam, no!" I heaved myself off the bed where he had laid me, and stumbled toward him, wincing as I jarred my tenderest parts. "Please, Sam! You know I wanted it as much as you did. I've been trying to tell you for months. If there is a fault in all this, it must be mine!" I reached him and barred his way, splaying my hands against his chest and looking full into his eyes. He stood it for a moment, and then looked away, his mouth trembling.

"It don't matter none," he said and his chin set in a way I knew well. "I should have kept meself in hand, and not given in to the lust that was in me." He shuddered and tears welled up. "I forced you, Mr Frodo! Why, I could have hurt you bad! It don't bear thinking about, and it won't happen no more. I won't let it happen. I won't."

"Sam!" I took him by the shoulders and shook him hard. "I knew what I was about, my dear. I tempted you apurpose, you see." I smiled, and then leaned in to kiss him softly. "I was never in any danger, Sam. Yours was a clean lust, and all I ever had to do to stop you was say _'No'_."

After a long moment he raised his head and looked at me, his gentle heart shining in his eyes. "Truly, Frodo?"

"Truly, love. Now come to bed. I'm cold and I need you to warm me."

My eyelids were starting to droop when he spoke again. "You really have been trying to turn my mind to it, haven't you? All that talk about pain being a part of love and all. Are you bored with my lovemaking, Frodo? Was that the point to what you tried to do?"

I gave a jaw-cracking yawn and hugged him closer. I should have known that he wouldn't let the matter go. "Don't be silly. You astonish and delight me every day. Of course you don't bore me. You couldn't if you tried."

"Well, what is it then? Have you got a taste for pain and I didn't know?" The last was an outraged squeak, and I sighed and resigned myself to confession.

"No – not that either," I replied. "Although I wouldn't protest if you needed to let go now and then. It was rather – stimulating, in fact." I laughed softly. "That thing you did with your tongue and my – erm – entrance, though. It was amazing, love. You'd never done it before, so how…"

His skin heated up against my cheek, and I knew that he was blushing. "I managed to think that much, at least," he admitted. "Spit was all I had to go on with, and it seemed proper to apply it where it would do the most good, so to speak. But you're trying to cozen me again, aren't you? I'm still waiting, Frodo."

"Oh, all right," I searched my mind for the words that would make him understand. "Do you remember that day when Bilbo –"

Sam sat up, blinking in surprise. "Mr Bilbo? What's he got to do with this?"

"Hush, and I'll tell you." I pulled him down and settled my head on his shoulder. "That old apple tree, Sam – do you remember? The branches were rotten through, and Bilbo forbade me to climb it, but I disobeyed him and fell and bumped my head a bit?"

"Oh aye. The old master gave you such a walloping as I never did see, and sent me running for the Widow Rumble as quick as could be. I was nobbut a lad then, and you new come to Bag End. You weren't much hurt, as I recall."

"No, I wasn’t. And after he beat me for my disobedience, he hugged me hard, carried me back to the smial all by himself and put me to bed." I grinned at the memory. "He had never laid a hand on me before, you see. Bilbo had no experience with tweenagers, and he needed me to love him so much, he treated me like something fine and fragile and never said me nay. I was in a fair way to being spoiled, I think. But I never really trusted him 'til he lost his head and beat me that day. You don't know what someone's really like until you've seen him at his best and his worst, Sam. And Bilbo showed his worst side because he loved me."

"Is that it? You wanted to know the worst of me?"

I kissed him fondly and replied, "No. I needed to learn all of what you are, all of what you could be. You hold my heart, Sam. I trust you utterly."

"You're a daft one, Frodo Baggins. And I love you too, my dear, though if you have a worst side to you, it plumb escapes me. Now go to sleep, love. It's been a long day."

I smiled and closed my eyes, well content.


End file.
